Transitions
by Victoria Quynn
Summary: The quest begins ... Lom and the Governor


Transitions

Lom Trevors entered the territorial governor's outer office. A cross breeze through open windows and transoms moved the air some, but not enough to make a difference – it still hung like a pall. The lump in his throat played against the already too-tight necktie and cardboard collar; an index finger did not fit between the two, try as he might to insinuate the digit. Of course, perspiration did not help matters, the moisture constricting things further. A string tie on a regular collared shirt was one thing. This dress-up for business in high political circles was not his norm, but attempting to move mountains required finesse, and appearance. He smirked, rolling his eyes at a singular conclusion: That he thought himself clad no better than a clown in the center ring, fit. After all, political games were a circus, and here he was. But, no game this.

He considered himself fortunate his office was an appointment; no small-town political machine to impress every couple of years. His gruff, no-nonsense, rock-hard exterior kept the few bad ones at bay, and his town was peaceful, for the most part. Faster than most, his quick draw warned away the odd wannabe, but more often it was the drunks or petty thieves who challenged his authority and found a cell at the local pokey with their names on it. Dried out or having served the sentence doled out by the local magistrate, they left the jail behind and hopefully learned a lesson, although a few were regulars.

That toughness belied a heart, or perhaps he was just stupid to put himself in this position. He could not be sure, of course, but they did seem sincere. Amnesty? For two wanted dead or alive? But then, why dead or alive? Thievery should not carry such a sentence, but notorious men played a dangerous game. And their adversaries responded in kind. Yes, Heyes was right. This newfangled technology moved at lightning speed, outpacing even the best, and they knew it. Sooner or later, someone would catch up with them, someone who could outgun even Kid Curry. But, they were affable enough, charming even, former colleagues of his. And he had let them talk him into this.

So he had taken the train to Cheyenne, a bag packed with his one suit and the uncomfortable accouterment that went with it. He had a lot to lose, but so did the bank corporations and train conglomerates if those he might call friends were not stopped. So here he was. Whether he was on a fool's errand, he knew not, but the first audience with the governor had gone better than expected. He presented his – their – case. The governor smirked, laughed, quieted. The furrows on his brow gave away his thought process. Lom sat quietly, not knowing what to expect.

"Interesting they contacted you, Sheriff, but good that they did. There might be something here. Let me give this some thought. I'll be in touch."

Lom had stood, momentarily dumbfounded. His words came hurriedly, "Yes, sir. Thank, thank you, sir." His hat in hand, he had almost tripped over his own feet on the way out. Straightening, he made his way to his hotel, and waited.

And here he was, the call-back. Another of the stuffed shirts who seemed so similar bade him enter. Again, the governor stood to greet him, handshakes less tentative the second-time round. They sat.

The governor waited until they were alone and the door closed before he spoke. "Sheriff, I've given this matter much thought. Of course, it's an unusual proposition. The amnesty offer was intended for common criminals of the small-time variety – chicken thieves and the like. That it might attract the likes of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry never crossed our minds. But, why not? It was meant for the common good, and getting those two off their thieving path can only help the common good. However, I don't feel I can just sally forth and grant them full amnesty outright. They need to earn it."

Lom blinked. One eye narrowing, his expression tentative, he sat straighter. "Earn it, sir?"

"Yes. I propose to grant them provisional amnesty. They'll have to stay out of trouble for a time – say, a year or so. If they do, we can revisit the issue at that future time." The governor grabbed a sheet of paper. Dipping his pen in the well, he spoke as he wrote, "Heyes and Curry … provisional amnesty … there, all done." He replaced the pen in its holder and lightly blotted the sheet. Satisfied, he looked it over before handing it to Lom.

The sheriff read. Looking up, he saw the governor was about to speak.

"Please express my congratulations to Messrs. Heyes and Curry, Sheriff. You pled their case admirably well. They owe you. As well, make sure they know the terms and conditions."

"I will, sir." Lom folded the paper carefully on the edge of the desk. Brow furrowed, he unfolded it, re-read it. He regarded the governor. "Sir, this says nothing about the bounties being lifted. They'll still be wanted?"

"That's right. As I said, they'll have to earn it. What kind of reaction do you think I'd get if I announced amnesty or a full pardon for those two? Heyes and Curry? Political expediency and all that. I'm sure you understand, Sheriff."

"Yes, sir."

"Let the world forget Heyes and Curry ever existed. Let the public be spared their crimes. Let the good citizens of Wyoming Territory …" The governor swept his arm toward the Stars and Stripes on the wall behind his desk, "… Yay, all the good citizens of this great country, be spared their evil exploits. That will be doing us all, far and wide, a great service."

"Yes, sir."

"So, yes, they'll still be wanted. It's up to them to disappear and trod the straight and narrow. That's the proviso. And it's only because they've never shot anyone in the commission of their crimes. Hard to believe, but I'm taking your word for it, Sheriff Trevors. And thanking you for even broaching the subject. We'll all breathe easier. The perfect means to a desired end. It's brilliant, really. "

"Thank you, sir."

The governor stood. Lom scrambled to his feet.

"Now, deliver the message to your charges. The sooner they know, the sooner their thievery stops, or at least I hope it does. I'm putting a lot of faith in you, Sheriff."

Lom stood stone-faced.

"Make sure they know it's your reputation on the line."

Sheriff Trevors nodded. He knew that too well. Reaching his arm across the desk, he shook hands with the governor. "Thank you, sir."

The governor nodded. Lom turned.

"Oh, one last thing, Sheriff."

Lom stopped, facing the governor once again.

"This is just between you, me, and them. No one else is to know."

"Yes, sir."

The governor nodded leave.

Lom exited the inner office, letting loose a breath. He had not realized he held it.


End file.
